


I'm not a dirty God, and I don't have a dirty Body

by oscarwilderobbieross



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Irish Steve Rogers, Italian Mafia, M/M, Romeo and Juliet References, Russian Mafia, This is for my discord friends, mob!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-12-31 17:57:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12137970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oscarwilderobbieross/pseuds/oscarwilderobbieross
Summary: A good ol' angst fic for my self indulgent mob!au





	1. Oh, how dare me

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my loving supporters, I hope you like tears!

The New York underbelly had been tightly ruled by three prominent families for decades: The Stark clan, the Rogers clan and the Romanov clan. Three branches, representing three different heritages, immigrants who hadn’t been able to shed their demons at sea.

 

Howard Stark had been at the head of the Stark family, a branch of the Italian mob, until he and his wife Maria were violently killed in their car. They’d been in neutral territory, and the news sent a violent shockwave through their community. Shock was quickly replaced with planning, as they found out who was responsible for the hit.

 

James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes was the right hand man of the head of the Rogers family, the main branch of the Irish mob. Steven Grant Rogers had been a scrappy in his youth, but you never had a lot of time to be a kid in a the mafia. So he grew up, trained, pushed his body past the breaking point. Bucky was his childhood friend, and they’d been with each other ever since birth. However, Bucky was quite sure he didn’t kill Stark, as he’d been nowhere near that part of town, but he didn’t let anyone else but Steve know that.

 

The news had chilled Natalia Romanova to the bone, head of the Russian mob. American mouths couldn’t wrap their tongues around their language, so she was crudely reduced to Natasha Romanov, for easy identification. She was somewhere between these two easily fired up forces, working on American elections made a simple territory conflict far below her pay grade, but an all out war would make her trade routes go south. So she preferred to keep things as clean as possible.

 

The three parties had been spending far too much time together already, dealing with this new threat to their traffic and trading. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was a masked figure that thought of himself as quite the vigilante, beating up lackeys and runners from all sides.

 

They’d thought of him as a distraction before, but he didn’t seem to pick sides, so they needed to get rid of him. The assassination of Howard Stark threw a wrench in that plan, effectively shutting down the Stark family, until Obadiah Stane, the man’s right hand, stepped in. He took over for the logical heir: Anthony ‘Tony' Stark. He’d been a smoother negotiator than his father, who preferred violence above all else.

 

Steve didn’t feel good about the man stepping in, knowing how Tony felt about him. He was extremely worried about the other man, not knowing which details he’d know, and which he wouldn’t. He couldn’t risk a visit. If Obadiah had told him, Tony wouldn’t hesitate to hand him over to Happy Hogan, his bodyguard.

* * *

They’d met when they were about 21. He remembered, because it was the Fourth of July, and Bucky had taken him out for his ‘first’ beer. They’d winded up in a bar in Stark territory, but it was a national holiday, and they didn’t care, beer flowing through their systems. They’d had their knives strapped to their thighs, anyway. Poorly hidden, but the people that mattered knew their faces. Tony had been sitting in a booth, his right hand man next to him, talking close to his ear. James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes, the only man who could talk back to Tony Stark and live. There was a rumor that he got kicked out of military school for biting off the ear of his superior, and no one had even dared to doubt it.

 

He’d looked up, his relaxed attitude switching to a dangerous one, until Tony pulled him back down on the plush seat. “We’re celebrating the birth of America, honey-bun.” He chided, and Rhodey rolled his eyes, leaning back, but his hand never left the leather of his holster. “Alright, settle down. We’re just here to have a drink, we wouldn’t have come if we were sober enough to check the sign.” Steve said, his hand on Bucky’s wrist, who was tense, much like Rhodey. “You flatter me, Irish.”

 

The police had chosen that time to bust in, and it was a chaotic mess of scattering drunks and shouted commands. Steve groaned as he was shoved, nearly losing his footing, until someone grabbed his hand and pulled him along to the exit. In his rush, he could see Bucky and Rhodey rush down an alley-way, before two deep brown eyes looked back at him, suddenly fully alert. They rushed down another path, and another, the route twisting and turning until he was fully disoriented, coming to a stop against Tony’s back as the man suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, shoving him against the wall and panting into his neck as heavy footsteps passed by them, past the alley. Cops. They must have been tipped off, eager to catch the kids of prominent mob bosses in the act.

 

He groaned as he shoved Tony off, glaring at the young man as he straightened out his clothes, annoyed. “What the hell, man?” He exclaimed, as Tony grabbed the material of his shirt, pulling him towards him and slamming him into the wall again, knocking his head against the brick.

 

“Did you fucking call the cops on us, Rogers?! Did you rat us out?!”

 

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking down at the other, who was a whole lot shorter than him. He looked dangerous though, and with his drunken brain, he dropped his gaze to the man’s lips, smirking to himself. He had a pretty mouth, although now it was pulled into an angry snarl.

 

“Oh yeah, totally. Hey NYPD, I know you’re still trying to bust me for breaking and entering, but I just have this really juicy tip, I know you’re going to love.”

 

He chuckled again, but it was quickly cut off as Tony slapped his cheek. He blinked down at the man, raising a brow. “Don’t fucking make fun of me.” Tony snapped, before letting go of Steve. He paced the alley, frustration evident in his features, and Steve watched him lazily, finding himself enjoying the cool summer night. “What are you going to do, Stark? Daddy’ll be mad.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“My dad would be so pissed, man. You gave up a whole club. What was it a front for?”

 

“I’m ignoring you.”

 

“Drugs? Fraud? Money laundering? All three?”

 

“Fuck, you’re annoying.”

 

“That’s what your mom said last night.”

 

“Your burns could use some work.”

 

“Your mom could use some work.”

 

Tony was on him again, a knife at Steve’s throat, fist clutching his lovely white shirt. God, he was going to have to iron that. “Why are you testing me? Do you have a death wish?” Steve shrugged, looking down in those eyes again, positively burning. “How are you not drunk right now?” Steve asked him, and Tony’s nose wrinkled as he frowned. It was cute. “I know how to handle my alcohol, Irish.” Tony said. He smirked, and Steve thought it was the damn best thing he’d ever seen.

 

He leaned in, and they were kissing. The knife clattered to the ground, and Steve groaned as Tony’s tongue pushed into his mouth.

 

The sex wasn’t good, it was hardly even sex, just grinding and Steve’s large hand wrapped around them both as Tony panted into his chest, left little bite-marks on his collarbone. Tony sucking a hickey into his neck was what made him spill first, but he didn’t break eye-contact as he helped the other man climax, wiping the cum off their stomachs with their shirts, a little clumsy and a little shy. Tony recovered first, tucking himself back into his jeans and zipping up, looking around with a flush still on his cheeks.

 

“I’ll see you around, Irish.”

* * *

That first meeting had been years ago, and they’d been meeting pretty much weekly, with cautious planning. Their.. **thing** was strictly off the grid, no one knew. It was just a ritual: adrenalin fueled fucks that ended with the both of them covered in scraps and bruises. They didn’t talk about the times when they fell asleep, pressed into each other and slotting together perfectly. They’d leave the room they booked as soon as they woke up, sneaking away like thieves in the night.

 

Somehow, only now, did he remember how Tony had spoken about Obadiah, or Obi, since that was how he'd lovingly nicknamed him. He'd called the man 'difficult', while Steve preferred his own, more pragmatic version of that. "A fucking creep. I don't trust him." Tony had just sighed, let it roll off of him. "He saved my dad's life. I can't thank him enough for that." 

 

A few months before, Tony had found some files on Obadiah's computer that worried him, and he'd mentioned them to Steve. There had been no time to go digging, and now.. Steve doubted that Tony even remembered. Obadiah was the only person he still had left, apart from Rhodey. But the man couldn't take over leadership just yet, so now that slimy bastard was at the helm.

 

Steve had ordered Bucky to stay inside of their territory, since the Starks had practically demanded to be delivered his head on a silver platter. He didn't think they'd listen to his arguments, or any rationality, and Steve didn't expect them to. 

 

If it had been him, he didn't know what he would have done. 

 

 

 


	2. Can you kneel before the king?

James Rhodes was loyal, it was one of his best qualities, and some people damned him for it. He’d put blood, sweat and tears in his work, all for the family he’d adopted as his own. Best friends since childhood, him and Tony were attached at the hip. The man had Happy as his bodyguard, but while the man was definitely loyal, and ready to protect, Rhodey was the one that could get through to Tony.

 

Even if the other man wanted to shut him out.

 

It had been a month, and Tony had refused to leave his office for anything but food and water. Rhodey was the only one who was allowed access, which he gladly used to let the air out of the stuffy, much too hot room. Tony sat in his office-chair, bend over his laptop at an angle that had to be killing his back. The man put a hand on his shoulder, and Tony swatted at it, focused on some report that he’d wrangled from the police, an improvised profile on the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

 

James groaned, shaking his head. “Tony, we should go. Don’t you want to light a candle?”

 

That got his attention, and the man smiled weakly as Tony rose from his seat, shuffling into the en suite bathroom with a heavy sigh.

 

He came down the stairs into the reception hall only ten minutes later, a towel over his head as his hair dripped onto the hardwood floors. He was wearing a clean shirt, a black suit Rhodey hadn’t seen before. He rubbed his hair dry, looking up at Rhodey as the man handed him a tie. There was an emptiness in his eyes that Rhodey hadn’t seen before, and he despised it.

 

Grief didn’t suit Tony Stark, the strong and cocky man was worn down by it, an empty shell of himself. He’d never carried much affection for his old man, Howard being the cold and distant bully that he was, but it was Maria who was truly missed. Her warm presence had been a true homecoming for Tony, almost every day, and Rhodey would miss the artful way she played the piano every evening.

 

* * *

 

After the funeral, Obadiah insisted to take Tony home, and Rhodey didn’t have time to protest before he was herded into the waiting Audi, the door closing behind him. James sighed, watching the car drive off, before lighting a cigarette and marching off.

 

He’d only been walking for a few minutes, as he spotted a familiar figure, that made bile rise in his throat and his hands itch. The man’s eyes widened as he realized he’d been found out, making a run for it.

 

James and James, two sides of the same coin, both willing to die for their families, the bosses, their best friends.

 

“You fucking bastard!” Rhodey seized Bucky only a few minutes away from crossing into the safety of Rogers territory, yanking him back by his suit jacket and making him stumble to the ground. He was on him in seconds, fists slamming into his face as Bucky tried to worm his way out of the man’s grip.

 

“How dare you?! How dare you show your goddamn face on the day of the funeral?! You’ve got some fucking guts, you rotten bastard!” Rhodey groaned as Bucky got one of his arms free, reeling his back and hitting him square in the nose.

 

Rhodey fell back, grasping his nose as warm blood flooded over his lips, leaving a coppery taste on his tongue. The man jumped up, panting, his artificial hand on his holster. But he was hesitating, a mistake he wouldn’t be able to make a second time, Rhodey thought.

 

He got to his feet himself, his gun out and ready within seconds. The moment where they stood, facing each other with their fingers on the trigger, seemed eternal. It seemed to freeze, all sound and surroundings fading away, the only sensations the pulses hammering in their chests. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, and suddenly it wasn’t.

 

The world jumped back into place with Steve Rogers. The man had appeared from out of nowhere, blocking Bucky with his broad back, before extending a raised palm to Rhodey as well. “Don’t.” Bucky had the nerve to chuckle, which made Rhodey’s hands tighten around his gun, jaw tight. “Stevie, what the hell are you talking about?” Bucky insisted, as the man didn’t step aside.

 

“This isn’t our territory. We came to pay our respects. That’s all.” Steve told Rhodey, holding up his hands, a mournful expression on his face. Rhodey didn’t lower his gun as Bucky did, stepping back as Steve wanted to step forward. “You’re a goddamn joke, Rogers. I’m not falling for your tricks. You talk nice, but you’re stupid for coming here.”

 

* * *

 

Peter was just lazing around at the border, having given himself the task to make sure no one would try to take advantage of the funeral day, like there weren’t actual ranked officials taking care of that. He sighed, kicking a piece of broken brick around, cursing as it hurt his toes. His fancy leather shoes were scuffed, and he could already hear the lecture May was going to give him, as the gunshot rang out.

 

The sound chilled him to the bone, and he looked around skittishly, jumping as he heard a single scream, and a second gunshot. He clenched his trembling fists, hesitating for only a moment before darting off towards the sound.

 

The smell hit him first, thick and coppery. _Blood_. As he jumped up the wall, hoisting himself over it, he was smacked in the face with it, letting out a single gasping breath as he turned and saw the full carnage.

_Bloodbloodbloodblood_ , so much blood.

 

He gagged, his back pressing against the wall as he realized he was stepping in it.

 

He stared at the only man still standing, pressing his hands over his mouths to keep in a whimper as he realized who it was.

 

Steve Rogers, head of the Rogers clan was standing over the body of.. _who_? There was so much blood, Peter had difficulty focusing on anything else. The man stood like a statue, but Peter didn’t dare to approach, eyeing the gun in his hand.

 

“ _Peter._ ”

 

It came out wet, and difficult, and Peter instantly recognized the voice, making his throat seize up and his stomach turn. He retched, tears and snot mixing as he shook violently, looking back at Rhodey on the ground.

 

“ _Get out of here! Now!_ ’

 

Peter had been staring at him, eyes wet with tears, but Rogers turned around, staring at Peter like he was a ghost. Peter was still shaking all over, but Rhodey was laying very still, and as Rogers took a step towards him, he practically launched himself back over the low wall, kicking back with his left foot as he felt the man grasp at the hem of his trousers.

 

Steve had felt his entire world fall away, as Rhodey did the one thing he wanted to avoid, and shot Bucky. The man went down, and Steve couldn’t even step forward to catch him before he hit the ground. He’d shot him in the neck, and he gasped for air, wheezing as he slowly choked on his own blood.

 

Steve fell to his knees, tried pressing his hands against the wound, but the blood just kept pouring and pouring, and Bucky just looked at him with fear in his eyes, unable to speak. Steve couldn’t cry, just pressed his forehead against Bucky’s chest, smearing blood on his face and hair as he desperately clutched at his friend. As he looked up again, and Bucky’s glazed over, unseeing eyes stared back at him, he screamed. A yell of utter defeat, of being powerless, of **loss**.

 

He took a hold of Bucky’s pistol and shot Rhodey in the chest, not even thinking twice about it.

 

The man took it without flinching, knowing there would have been no other possible outcome for him. He fell, horrible sounds emitting from him as his lungs filled with blood. His eyes widened briefly as he saw Peter appear, but he knew the kid couldn’t help him. He was only young.

 

He only took his final words to tell Peter to get out, before everything faded out of existence.

 

* * *

 

The kid, Steve hadn’t expected the kid. He could run. Steve panted as he followed the kid blindly, passing through his own territory, crossing border past border, realizing the kid was trying to shake him before going back to report to Tony. He didn’t know. No one did. He stopped, at the same time as the kid, as they’d found themselves at a roadblock, of sorts.

 

Russians.

 

_Fuck._

 

As the boy looked back at him, he quickly realized that the kid didn’t have a way out either, fear clear as day on his pale face. He couldn’t feel too bad for him, since they were both equally screwed. The Russians only served themselves, the borders incredibly important to them. Their territory was not one that was easily described, since no one found themselves coming back from it.

 

Steve swallowed hard, body still shaking with rage and adrenalin as one of the large men spoke up.

 

“Well well well, isn’t this interesting?”


	3. He stumbled into faith

Peter trembled as one of the men stepped closer to him, seizing his collar and shoving him into the wall. “Little boy, does your mother know you’re here, huh?” The boy shook his head, swallowing thickly before speaking. “I don’t have a mother.” He flinched as a hand grabbed his jaw, digging meaty fingers into it.

 

“Where are your manners, boy?”

 

“I don’t have a mother, Sir?”

 

The man grinned, a gesture that felt unnatural on his gruff face. “There you go. You should be happy, you don’t have to worry about anyone having to bury you.” Peter let out a shaky sign, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid seeing a hit that never came.

 

Steve was looking at the Russian, his grip tight on the man’s wrist. “He’s just a kid. Don’t you think you should pick someone whose your own size?” He suggested, raising a brow. The other man chuckled, letting Peter go, who stood unsteady on trembling legs, back still pressed into the wall. “Alright, Rogers. I’ll humor you.”

 

Steve stepped back as the man got up in his face, only to still against the second man, who pushed him forward again. “Are you scared, Rogers? You’d better have the skills to back up your big words.” Steve couldn’t help but scowl, glaring at the man as he reached for the knife he kept in his boots, freezing as he heard a familiar face behind him.

 

“There’s no need for that, Rogers.”

 

Natasha Romanov stepped into his field of view, an almost bored look on her face as she studied Peter, before looking back at Steve. “What the hell are you doing here, in my territory?” She asked, almost casual, but Steve knew her focus was on.

 

He took a deep breath, looking at Peter. “He was going to rat me out. I wanted to avoid that.”

 

“Killing a kid? Not your character, Rogers.” Natasha said, raising a brow.

 

“I didn’t- I wasn’t going to kill him. Just.. warn him.”

 

Even Peter seemed skeptical of that, spitting on the ground as he glared at Steve, and the man could only think about how the suit seemed to big for a kid that still had spots on his face. He looked back at Natasha, his jaw tight as he thought back to the two bodies on the ground. “Barnes was killed, by Rhodes. I killed Rhodes. If Stark knows, he’ll declare war on us all.”

 

Natasha tutted at that, waving her finger in front of Steve’s face with a little smirk on her face. “Not _us_. He’ll declare war on **you**.” She hummed, pacing in the alleyway. “Now, that is difficult.. isn’t it?” She wondered, and Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing this was all theatrics. “The boy remains silent.. And we avoid war. Can you do that, boy?”

 

Peter nodded quickly, the woman’s icy gaze making him flinch. “Good. Rogers, make sure he gets home in one piece. He seems.. reckless.”

 

* * *

 

The two of them waited until the small group had disappeared, before walking back to the border, a cold silence between them during the walk. Steve insisted on walking him all the way to the mansion, not wanting to risk the boy running off and ratting him out, despite of what Natasha said.

 

Honestly, it was stupid that he didn’t see this coming.

 

He was already thinking of his own story, explaining his sudden appearance in the wrong territory, fabricating a story about helping the kid out of a scrape with his guys, when the kid started yelling.

 

He barely had time to yank the kid back, cover his mouth with his hand, only to be answered by vicious teeth biting down on it, before the men appeared.

 

There were so many, surrounding him, and yelling at him to get on the ground. He was on his knees in seconds, before he was cuffed and dragged off into the mansion, leather boots dragging over the hardwood floors as he was hoisted into an office and dropped onto the carpet. He was pulled to his knees by his hair, eyes widening as he was staring right at Tony.

 

The man was leaning against his desk, eyes nothing but dark pits, boring holes into his own. Steve had to look away, his gaze dropping to the carpet again, shame rising like bile in his throat as he realized he’d need to be in the room to hear Peter tell Tony his report.

 

The boy stood at attention, excitement barely covered up by focus, as he quickly but carefully told Tony what he witnessed, feeling the grip on his hair get tighter as Peter finally got out the punishing words. He didn’t hear Tony respond, but he knew he must have moved, given a signal, because a boot hit him the jaw, as he groaned, falling onto his side as there was nothing to stop him.

 

He was hoisted up again, blinking away the wetness on his lashes that the pain automatically triggered, as he saw two shined shoes standing on the carpet, a hand yanking up his face, so he was forced to look Tony in the eye. There was a gun pressing against his head now, and Tony’s eyes were hard as stone.

 

“ _Beg for your life, Rogers._ ”

 

His voice was poison, and hurt and anger, rage barely held back by a careful control. Steve allowed himself to let out a shuddering sigh, but his lips remained firmly pressed together, an angry thin line. His jaw was tight and Tony let go of his hair, thinking about how anger never had suited the man.

 

_**Pride** _

 

It was the man’s downfall, and Tony knew this. He’d asked the man to do something impossible, because he wasn’t the only one who deserved to feel pain in this moment. As Steve averted his eyes, remained stupidly silent, a humorless smile appeared on Tony’s lips, and he turned his back on Steve.

 

Walking back to his desk, he took a hold of the edge, his fingers sliding over the wood as he thought, tears hid from view as they welled up in his eyes. His heart was a bleeding mess right now, still open and bloodied from his parents, his mother. He’d needed Rhodey, and now he was gone. His grip tightened on the desk, and he dragged a hand over his face, before looking at Happy, standing nearby.

 

“Lock him up.”

 

* * *

 

Peter stared at his cousin in shock as the men hesitated for a moment, before lifting Steve and taking him out of the room, the door closing behind them. “What?” He took a step forward, anger in his eyes, only stopping as Tony looked up at him, dangerous.

 

Peter’s fists clenched at his sides, and he scowled at Tony, before storming out of the room. “This is bullshit!” Tony didn’t blame him, he was too young to understand, he could never understand, no one could. Steve and him had gotten in over their heads, and war was nearly unavoidable with both sides so utterly shattered and unstable.

 

He had more border-patrols set up, arranging a funeral for Rhodey, having a soldier collect Barnes’ body to have it dropped off near his own territory, wanting to give them a body to bury. He already took away Steve, and his second in command. Sam Wilson was leading the charge, but he wasn’t ready to lead, both sides didn’t know what step to take next.

 

The threat of war was strangely suspended, up in the air.

 

No one was particularly eager to take the first step.

 

Days later, he was contacted by Natasha Romanov, whom he agreed to meet on neutral ground because she’d spared Peter’s life when he so recklessly overstepped. She seemed eager, a little rushed to get him in the same room, and he immediately noticed that they were alone, as he entered the room.

 

“Don’t get any big ideas, Stark. I’ve got soldiers on watch, much like you.” Natasha told him, as she sat down, inviting him to do the same. “I have information that might interest you.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“It seems.. We’ve smelled a rat.”

 


	4. Does the devil get scared?

Matt Murdock dropped down from the rooftop onto the balcony of a spacious Manhattan apartment, taking his time to break open the sliding doors, curtains billowing as the wind yanked at them. He slipped inside wordlessly, listening carefully for any sounds, but it remained mercifully silent.

 

He made him way to the bedroom, avoiding the creaking floorboards with practiced care.

 

As he pushed open the door, he could see the burning shape of Obadiah Stane in his bed, unmoving, apart from the steady rise and fall of his chest. There was a switch within him, as he moved, only freezing as the man shifted. For a moment, he thought the man would wake, but he didn’t, he simply made a soft noise In his sleep, before settling down again.

 

The devil of Hell’s Kitchen had to stop himself from breathing a sigh of relief, before thanking his God in a silent prayer.

 

* * *

 

The next day, the apartment complex was laden with cops, Phil Coulson lifting the yellow tape over his head as he entered the crime scene, looking up at the broken window before looking down at the body under the white sheet.

 

He squatted, exchanging a look with the cops nearby, before lifting the sheet, the lifeless eyes of Obadiah Stane looking back at him. If any emotions went through it, they didn’t give him away, and he let out a sigh before rising again, glancing over at the charred letters that seemed to be burned into the concrete.

 

“Seems like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen has expanded his.. territory.”

 

He walked off, glad that the detectives couldn’t see the tight set of his jaw.

 

Natasha and Tony had been working together for weeks, meeting after meeting, putting together documents and information and figuring out the puzzle. They’d nearly found the last piece, as Happy dropped the news on Tony.

 

“He’s dead?” Tony asked, staring down at the pictures of the crime scene, strewn out over his desk.

 

“I’m sorry, boss.” Happy told him, and Tony frowned to himself, sitting down in his leather desk chair.

 

“Happy?” The man looked at him, a little worried as he saw the look on Tony’s face.

 

“What’s the matter, boss?”

 

“ _Who am I going to have left_?”

 

* * *

 

As they searched Obi’s apartment, they found enough paperwork to start the chase for Coulson, who seemed to have resigned from his position, and was last seen in New Jersey.

 

Somehow, Tony wasn’t that surprised by the man’s betrayal, a strange numbness in his heart ever since he buried his parents. Side by side, closed caskets. He wondered what would happen to Obadiah, if no one came to claim his body and take him out of the morgue. A poor man’s funeral? None at all? An unmarked grave?

 

He felt like he was being chased by a forest fire, the world burning behind him, and the flames were licking at his heels.

 

It had always been Steve and him, the flames licking at their skin as they navigated the woods together, but somehow, with Rhodey’s murder, the man had vanished into ash and left him too.

 

He missed Steve, craved the moments of quiet they had together, stolen moments of peace where nothing mattered but the two of them. Now Steve had blood on his hands, the blood of the most important man in his life, and he was stuck in a cell.

 

Stuck in a cell and grieving the death of a man who died for nothing, paid for a crime he didn’t commit.

 

God, what where they doing?

 

* * *

 

The sky was crying, and he somehow found his way to Brooklyn, knocking on Steve’s door as his suit jacket weighed heavy on his shoulders. He smiled weakly as the man opened the door, his bright eyes full of surprise as he saw the man standing on his doorstep. “Tony..” His surprise turned into a warm smile, and Tony couldn’t help but return it.

 

“Come in, I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

 

Steve’s smile quirked up, and Tony squinted at him. “Did you just quote Bob Dylan at me?”

 

“Hey, it’s fitting, don’t you think?”

 

Steve walked back into the living room from the kitchen, two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands, as Tony returned from the bedroom, dressed in Steve’s borrowed sweatpants and a woolen sweater he was swimming in. Steve couldn’t help but chuckle, making Tony scowl. “I’m sorry, but I forget that you’re not quite as.. broad.”

 

“Are you calling me skinny, Rogers?”

 

“I wouldn’t dare.”

 

Tony approached him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as Steve put down the coffee next to the couch, smiling against his lips.

 

“Good.”

 

It was the first time that Tony actually slept a full night without nightmares, safely enveloped in Steve’s broad arms, dozing off as he traced the tattoo on his chest. “What does it mean?”

 

“It’s Gaelic. Ní neart go cur le chéile.”

 

“What does it mean?”

 

“There’s strength in unity.”

 

Tony smiled, looking up at Steve, who bent down to kiss his forehead.

 

“There sure is.”

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha hired two hitmen, the Norse brothers: Thor and Loki Odinson. Having broken from their clan a long time ago, they became the finest assassins one could wish for. They would track down the Devil, who’d be able to help them find Coulson.

 

He’d be dealt with, and he’d release Steve. They’d finally be able to start talking a truce.

 

Or at least, that’s what they hoped for.


	5. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...

_Tony was dead._

 

Steve had been in prison for months now, stuck in the dull routine, stuck in one place with no way to contact his clan. No way to know what would happen to him.

 

The news had reached him only weeks ago, apparently Coulson hadn’t surrendered so willingly, and Tony got too close. Steve let out a shuddering sigh as he sat down on his cot, only to look up as a shape blocked his light. He frowned at the guard, eyeing him suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

 

“You’re free to go, Rogers.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you scared to die?”

 

Steve looked up at Bucky, from where’d he’d been absent-mindedly kicking around a pebble on the sidewalk, shrugging silently. “Dunno. If it happens, it happens, right?”

 

They were 14, not even in high school yet, but they weren’t very eager to get there. The future that was waiting for them, when they finally came of age, was far more exciting. However, their mothers pushed for them to do their best, achieve something.

 

They wanted them out of it, Steve knew that, and so did Bucky. But much like their mothers, they also knew that was impossible. They lives would be built around territory, weapons and blood.

 

Defending the family honor, it was the only expectation their fathers had of them, and so it was the only dream they’d ever known.

 

“I won’t die.”

 

Bucky’s smile was a simple curl of lips, self-confidence and bravado on his face.

 

“I won’t give them the chance.”

 

* * *

 

Steve squinted against the sunlight as he stood outside of the prison, going through his pockets and finding his phone there. With a huff, he looked at the screen, and the perpetual blackness it greeted him with.

 

No battery. Of course.

 

He was about to walk to the bus stop, feeling for the crumpled up bills in his inner pocket, as he saw the familiar figure of Happy Hogan, leaning against his car. “Rogers. I’ve been ordered to pick you up.” Steve stilled, looking back at the prison before looking at Happy, like he was trying to decide which option he preferred.

 

“Who gave you the order?” Steve asked, almost carefully.

 

Happy rolled his eyes, looking at the man. “Look, I’ve had a long day, Rogers. I don’t have time for this. Get in the damn car, or I’ll help you into it.”

 

Steve didn’t think it would be too wise to start a fight outside of a prison, because even if he was a hotheaded man, he wasn’t a stupid one.

 

* * *

 

The drive was uneventful, silent, as Happy ignored any and all questions Steve tried to steer his way. He didn’t understand, he’d been doing his time. Someone got him out, and now he was back in Stark custody. With their leader killed, and Steve rotting in prison, why would they want him out?

 

He considered his options, figuring that he wouldn’t get far if he threw himself out of a moving vehicle. Attacking Happy and gaining control of the car seemed like a death trap, on a busy road, leading back into the city.

 

In the end, he just settled back into the plush cushioned seat, looking out at the city through the tinted window of the Audi, wondering when he’d have the privilege of admiring that view again. They drove for so long, he hadn’t even realized he’d drifted off to sleep until he woke up with a shock.

 

He startled as Happy yanked the door open, nearly falling out before grabbing a hold of the passenger’s seat. He glared at Happy, who gave him a noncommittal shrug. “Rise and shine.”

 

Steve rubbed his face, climbing out of the car a little groggily, as Happy grabbed his arm, steadying him in his sleepy state. He sighed, closing the door behind him and looking around, stilling as he saw the familiar man leaning almost casually against his car.

 

“Hey,”

 

_Tony._

 

He looked back at Happy, who rolled his eyes and stepped back, allowing Steve to nearly climb over the hood of the car to reach Tony, standing in front of him in stunned silence.

 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

A wrecked sob sounded echoed through the small parking lot, and it took the shift in Tony’s expression to make Steve realize it had come from him. “I- You-”

 

“I’m not dead, Steve.”

 

Steve was kissing him before he could even stop himself, his hands clutching Tony’s jacket, the man stilling against him before melting into his touch, carefully putting his hands on the man’s hips, like he was scared to break him.

 

He spoke again as they parted, breathing the words into his neck. “I love you.”

 

Steve kissed his cheek carefully, looking at the man.

 

“I love-”

 

_A shot rang out_

 

* * *

 

Tony stared at Steve, who was staring back at him, stunned. A big red stain was spreading across his chest, and his knees gave out. Tony caught him quickly, pangs of pain going through his legs as he dropped himself to the pavement to support the man. “Steve!” He looked up, around him, shock punching him in the gut like an iron fist as he stared at Peter, who stared back at him, gun trembling in his hands.

 

“No!”

 

Happy was already there, taking the gun from Peter and shaking him, his angry yelling fading into the background as an awful rushing sound filled Tony’s ears. His own heart hammering in his chest as he looked down at Steve, whose heartbeat was only getting slower and slower under his hands.

 

“Nononono, please.. please.. Steve, we were supposed to do this together-”

 

Tears choked Tony, as Steve just looked at him, eyes wet and wide. His mouth opened and closed, almost like he was trying desperately to say something but from the wet gasps Steve was dragging into his mouth, he knew it was useless.

 

“We got them, Steve.. We got them all.” Tony sobbed, pressing his forehead against the man’s neck.

 

“We were going to unite the families.. change everything..” He whispered into his skin, looking up as he felt the man’s pulse fade.

 

As he looked up at the man again, he was staring at the sky.

 

Not seeing anything.

 

Never again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me so long to finish, I'm sorry!


End file.
